


fake it til you make it

by droseth



Series: variety show [2]
Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:20:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23198464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/droseth/pseuds/droseth
Summary: Ted's never been one to think things through. He kind of wishes he'd thought this one through.Or - Ted kisses Paul.
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Ted
Series: variety show [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667800
Comments: 20
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello,  
> this is at least a little inspired by okemmelie's Painfully Pretending.
> 
> do NOT hold your breath for an update, but damn I sure hope I do because otherwise how else will I know what happens.

Ted’s not sure what he’s thinking when he tells Paul to kiss him. 

Okay, that’s not entirely true. 

Charlotte had called it off again. It wasn’t the first time, and at the time, Ted was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last either. But it had been _five months_ , and Ted was starting to wonder if it was over. Like, for real.

So when Charlotte arrives at the after-work Friday drinks with Sam in tow, well, he can’t let that go unchallenged.

Ted turns to Paul, grabbing his shoulder to pull him closer. “Kiss me,” he says, voice low and urgent. 

“What?” Paul blinks at Ted, eyes wide. 

“Just fucking kiss me, Paul!” Ted hisses, shaking him slightly. “Fuck!”

Paul blinks again and leans forward to press a chaste kiss to Ted’s mouth. 

“ _Properly,_ asshole,” he says, pulling Paul back in when he tries to move away. Watching Charlotte from the corner of his eye (Sam has his arm over her shoulders and they look like they’re actually enjoying each other’s company - counselling must be working, Ted thinks bitterly), he misses the stubborn gleam in Paul’s eye.

Then all thoughts of Charlotte and Sam wash away as Paul kisses him again. It’s firmer this time, more assured, and there’s a hand in his hair and another on his shoulder, slipping down to rest over his suddenly racing heart. A shiver runs down his spine when Paul drags his nails lightly through his hair.

 _Oh fuck,_ some still rational part of his mind thinks. _Fuck, Paul’s actually kind of good at this._

His hand tightens on Paul’s shoulder, and Ted’s glad he’s sitting because his knees are worryingly weak. He absolutely _does not_ whine when Paul finally pulls away.

Ted stares as Paul returns to his own seat and reclaims his beer, abandoned when Ted had demanded Paul kiss him. He feels like Paul’s knocked the wind out of him. He can still feel Paul’s touch on him, skin tingling. On his mouth, his scalp, on his collarbone where his fingers had brushed when Paul had pulled away.

“What the fuck Paul.” Ted’s voice is hoarse. “What the fuck was _that?_ ”

Paul shrugs, taking a sip of his beer. There’s a faint flush on his cheeks and his ears are red, but there’s a smug glint in his eye. 

“You told me to kiss you ‘ _properly’,_ ” Paul says, making air-quotes with his free hand. “So I did.”

Ted’s not sure what he was _expecting_ when he told Paul to kiss him, but _God,_ it wasn’t that.

* * *

So the thing is. The thing _is._

Ted can’t stop thinking about Paul. About the kiss. About the way Paul kissed him. About how _fucking good_ Paul is at kissing. 

He covers his face with a groan, rolling over to bury his face in his pillows. He grinds down against the bed unthinkingly.

“Fuck! No!” He throws himself onto his back again, staring resolutely at the ceiling, arms flung to the sides. 

This is ridiculous, Ted tells himself. It’s fucking _Paul_ \- his brain starts detouring into _fucking_ Paul before he manages to course correct. He shifts restlessly, feeling a flush spreading across his face and down his throat. His hands twitch, but he’s fine, _he’s fine_.

Anyway, it’s _just Paul_.

Boring, coffee dependent, musical hating, socially awkward Paul. 

This is nothing, Ted decides. He’s just horny because he hasn’t seen Charlotte in nearly six months and he’s pent up, or whatever. And Paul just happened to give him _an okay kiss_ , so now his brain (and his dick) have like, fixated on him. It’s whatever.

It’s _not_ going to be a problem.

* * *

By the time Ted gets to work on Monday, he’s convinced himself that the whole thing was a fluke. He was just - tipsy, and touch-starved, and whatever other excuses he can think up. Paul’s probably not even that good of a kisser.

Apparently, his dick (and his brain) have _not_ gotten this memo. Throughout the day, Ted finds himself staring at Paul (and Paul’s mouth, and Paul’s hands, _fuck_ ) whenever his attention strays from his work.

Ted’s only been at work for like, two hours before he stages a retreat to the bathroom. He splashes cold water on his face, slapping his cheeks a little for good measure, before making eye contact with his reflection. His face is wet, hair and shirt damp where he got careless, and his cheeks are flushed. He chooses to believe it’s because of the slapping, not because he’s been _blushing_. 

“Come the fuck _on_ , Ted,” he hisses, gripping the sink like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “Pull yourself the fuck together, man. _God._ ”

He spends at least five minutes giving himself a pep talk that can be summed up as “Stop acting like a goddamn middle schooler with a crush.”

He can’t hide forever though, so he stands up, dries off properly, and heads back to his desk. Of course, he runs into Paul before he can get there. 

“Oh hey Ted,” Paul says with a smile. He’s acting totally normal, like the kiss didn’t even happen, like nothing has changed. Ted tries to swallow with a suddenly dry throat.

“Hey Paul,” he manages to croak out, sounding almost normal.

“I was just heading to Beanies,” he nods towards the elevators. “Did you want to come?”

 _Fuck yes,_ some dumb, stupid part of his brain thinks. His mouth does not say this, thank God.

“Uh, n-no,” he stutters out. “I’ve got like, a-uh whole bunch of reports to get started on. Mhmm, yep definitely. So um, thanks but no I cannot uh come to Beanies. Thanks.”

 _You’re babbling,_ a smarter part of his brain thinks. _Shut the fuck up before you make yourself look like an even bigger fool._

Ted manages to stop talking, snapping his jaw shut before he can spill out any more inane drivel. Paul looks kind of confused, kind of concerned. Ted makes a determined effort not to look at Paul’s mouth. He looks at Paul’s eyes instead, and makes the unfortunate discovery that Paul’s eyes are like, _really fucking blue._

“Right, okay, if you’re sure,” Paul says. Ted makes a noise of agreement and nods. And then nods a few more times for no good reason because he’s losing it, apparently.

“I’ll, uh, grab you something. Chai iced tea, right?”

Ted doesn’t answer, because if he opens his mouth he’ll look like an idiot, but Paul’s already gone. He goes back to his desk to try and find something to distract himself with.

He ignores the warm curl of satisfaction in his chest at the thought that Paul remembers his order.

* * *

So it _might_ be a problem.

It takes Ted a bit over a week to crack. Okay, so maybe he never had it together in the first place, but it takes him that long to _really_ unravel.

He can't stop staring at Paul, and he keeps _noticing_ things. 

The way his shoulders fill out his suit. How his ass looks in his slacks. The flex of his forearms when he rolls his sleeves up. 

The brilliant blue of his eyes. How soft his mouth looks, often accompanied by the memory of how soft it _is._

It's awful.

Of course, that's not even mentioning the dreams, or the fact that whenever Paul talks to him lately, Ted seems to lose all control over his damn tongue.

 _This is worse than being a teenager_ , he thinks with despair, late on Wednesday night. _What the fuck is_ wrong _with me._

This can't go on, he decides, trying to banish the thought of Paul's mouth and the particular way it curves when he smiles.

He needs to talk to an expert. Or someone with experience at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't sue me, Paul is a good kisser in this one - or at least, Ted thinks he's a good kisser. Is he really? up for debate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted tries to get some advice for his, uh, situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know i feel about this but it's midnight here so FUCK IT, have at.  
> i want! more! ted/paul content! and if i have to be the one making it, so be it!! i will read the _shit_ out of my own writing don't even try me

Ted leaves the house early the next day and heads to Beanie’s. He has no idea if the crabby barista will be there (yes, okay, he _knows_ her name is Emma, but it's this whole _thing_ now), but he's hopeful.

Is he hoping that she’ll be there, or that she won’t? Ted has no fucking clue.

Whatever the case, Emma is, in fact, working when Ted arrives. 

It’s early enough that there’s only one other customer, though that isn’t saying much. Beanie’s isn’t anyone’s first choice for coffee, not with a Starbucks only another block over. He waits impatiently until finally the woman’s done and he can move up to the counter. She scowls as he pushes past her, but Ted ignores her.

“Welcome to Beanie’s, what can I get you today,” Emma rattles off in a flat monotone, not even looking at Ted as she fiddles with the register. Fucking _rude_ , but the least of his many, many issues right now. 

“Listen, Evie -”

“Emma.”

“-bless you _._ I need to talk to you about something, okay. Are you free?” It’s a dumb question. Ted doesn’t need to look around to know that he’s the only one here, now that the scowling lady has left.

Emma eyes him suspiciously. Which is fair, Ted’s never been a particularly stand up guy. But Ted doesn’t have time for her cynical, suspicious bullshit right now, he needs _answers._

“It’s about Paul,” he insists. That pulls her up short, and Emma frowns. There’s a touch of worry in her eyes, quickly hidden behind a wall of annoyance.

“What _about_ Paul?”

Ted taps his fingers anxiously against the countertop, shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

"You dated him, right?"

Emma pulls a face. "We went on like, three and a half dates. I don’t know if I’d call that _dating_."

"Exactly - wait, three and _a half?_ How do you go on _half_ a date?” 

“Ugh,” Emma groans, rolling her eyes. It doesn’t stop her from launching into the story. 

“So the first time we went out, we go to the fair, right? And it was like 'hey! Let's fuckin’ ride the bumper cars’, but some asshole rammed into us and I _smashed_ my face right into the front of the car.” She slaps her hand on the counter loudly, startling Ted. “And Paul's like ' _that's why we wear seatbelts, Emma_ '. He had to take me to the hospital to make sure it wasn’t broken, there was so much blood. Actually-” 

She pulls out her phone, scrolling for a few seconds before showing the screen to Ted. It’s a selfie of her and Paul in the emergency waiting area - Emma’s eyes are already starting to bruise, and there is blood all over her lower face. Paul looks slightly panicked, as he always does when a camera is pointed at him. There’s a bit of blood smeared across his cheek.

Not hot, not hot, _not hot_ , Ted chants in his head. Fuck, it’s kind of hot.

“Anyway, after I spat blood all over him when we went in for a kiss, we decided to call it a night.” Emma puts her phone away with a shrug. “Didn’t even end up getting dinner out of it.”

Silence stretches between them for a few beats too long as Ted tries to remember what the fuck he came here for. 

“Sooo…” Emma says, rocking awkwardly on her feet. 

“Right! Question! I have a question,” Ted says, clearing his throat loudly. “A question. About Paul. Because you dated him.”

“Riiiight,” Emma says, nodding slowly. “And what is this question. About Paul.” 

Ted thinks she might be mocking him, but again, _not the issue right now_.

“Has Paul… Did he - Was he always so… so…” He waves his hand in the air vaguely, hoping Emma will just psychically _know_ what he means without him actually having to say the words. This encounter has already been humiliating enough, can he not get a single break? 

Emma raises an eyebrow at him, leaning forward, elbows on the counter. 

“Always so what? Awkward? Anxious? I don’t know, probably? You’ve known him longer than me.”

“ _Good at kissing,_ ” Ted finally manages to spit out. Fuck, he can’t believe he actually said that. It feels like some sort of betrayal to admit it, though Ted has no idea what he’s betraying. His dignity, maybe?

"What the fuck, Ted," she says, after a long, _torturous_ pause. Both eyebrows are raised now. "Did you _kiss Paul?"_

"No! I mean, yes, but that's not important right now-"

"I think the fuck it is," Emma mutters, but Ted raises his voice and barrels on.

"What's _important_ is whether or not you think Paul is a good kisser!" 

Emma squints, and Ted can see the wheels turning in her head. 

"Oh my god," she says, and the glee in her voice is frankly offensive. Ted is not here to _amuse_ her, he's here asking for her opinion on a very serious issue.

"Paul kissed you and now you've got a fucking _crush_ on him! This is _priceless,_ holy shit."

Ted is blushing furiously now, he can feel it. This is not how he was hoping this would go, but really, he should have known this would happen. This is what happens when he goes to Emma fucking Perkins for help.

"Shut the fuck up!" He hisses. “Just answer the fucking question, _God_.”

"Yeah, I guess he's a decent kisser," Emma says with a shrug. There's a look in her eyes that Ted _does not_ like. "He knows how to use his mouth. If you know what I mean." 

She waggles her eyebrows absurdly and flicks her tongue at him. If Ted wasn't trying to stop himself from imploding at the _implications_ of that thought, he would make fun of her for it. Instead, he groans and lets his head thunk against the countertop. He’d kind of hoped that maybe it would cool down his burning face, but mostly it’s just sticky and gross.

“Dude, that’s disgusting.” Emma flicks him with a hand towel, and Ted lifts his head to glare at her. “No seriously, I have no idea when that was last cleaned properly.”

Ted stands back up, but only because it really is an unpleasant feeling, not because Emma asked him to. “Fuck you, Perkins,” he says, flipping her off for good measure. Emma wrinkles her nose and flips him off as well. “This was a fucking waste of time. A _decent kisser_ , what the fuck does that even _mean_.”

“Why don’t you just, you know, kiss him again?”

Ted gapes at Emma. Of all the dumb ideas, kissing Paul again was the last thing on his mind. 

That was a complete lie because he’d been thinking about it a lot, actually. But kissing him for real, in the real world, wasn’t something he’d considered _seriously._

“Hear me out,” Emma says. “You want to know if he’s a good kisser, right? Maybe it was a one-time thing, a fluke or whatever. Scientific method, dude, you gotta check the repeatability.” She nods decisively, wiping Ted’s face print off the counter.

“That is the single worst idea I have ever heard,” Ted tells her. “Why the fuck would I want to do that again?” He absolutely wants to do it again, but he’s already admitted too much today. His ego can’t take any more.

"Look, I told you my opinion. Now are you gonna order anything or not?"

Ted groans. This whole trip really was a huge waste of time. 

"Yeah, yeah, fine. I'll get a chai iced tea, and…" Ted hesitates. No. No no no. He's not doing this. 

"And?" Emma prompts.

"...and a black coffee, to go." Ted hates himself so, _so_ much right now. The gleam in Emma's eyes borders on unholy, and Ted points at her threateningly. "I don't want to hear a _word_ out of you about this, okay?"

Emma mimes zipping her lips, but silence doesn't stop her from giving him a frankly unnerving grin. 

He wishes he had a hand free so he could flip her off as he leaves, but he doesn’t so he settles for glaring. He gets the feeling that it’s nowhere near as effective as he would like.

It’s still early enough that, despite his conversation with Emma, he gets to work 20 minutes before he usually would. There are a few people already there, and of course, Paul is one of them. 

_What a dork_ , Ted thinks. If it’s a bit fond, no one else has to know. 

“Heeeeey, Paul,” he says, leaning casually against Paul’s desk. He sets the plain, boring black coffee down and pushes it towards Paul. “Here, coffee for you.”

Paul blinks at the cup in surprise, before smiling at him. Ted stares at the curve of Paul’s mouth, and Emma’s words from before seem to echo in his head. Nope, no way, not thinking about that right now.

“Thanks, Ted,” Paul says, taking a sip. “What’s the occasion?”

Ted stammers for a moment. He hadn’t thought he would need a _reason_ to get Paul a coffee, but he realises his mistake now. He’s never bought coffee for anyone in the office before, not even Charlotte when they were, ahem, seeing each other.

“N-no occasion,” Ted says. “Just um, thought I’d get _you_ coffee this time, as payback, you know?”

Paul chuckles. “I think you owe me more than just one drink if that’s the case. But really, thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem, Paul.” Ted can’t get out of there fast enough. “Talk to you later!”

Ted throws himself into his chair, making it creak alarmingly, and buries his face in his hands. 

“Fuuuuuuuuuck,” he groans to himself, very quietly. He is so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was that first date basically an adaptation of tgwdlm?? why yes, yes it was.


End file.
